Weight
by Prisoner-of-Conscience
Summary: After the events of Infinity War, Tony and Steve struggle to cope.


Ever since Wakanda, the facility has been void of dust. Tony hired thirty pairs of hands to dust room after room of the upstate NY headquarters. The…the _remaining_ members of the team scarcely interacted, busing themselves with "research" or "training". No one acknowledged that the heavy air in the hallways and bedrooms and labs was, in fact, grief. Everyone ignored the diagnosis, everyone but Steve. Steve knew he was the world's leading authority on loss, but he wasn't used to also being the cause of it. He still carried a heavy weight; the weight of Bucky's body as he dangled from the train, the weight of Peggy's watch as it rested in his palm, the weight of Woodrow Wilson's pens, the weight of Nat's limp form, the weight of his shield, the weight of his helmet, the weight of his rank, the weight of Thanos' hand…the weight of his guilt.

It was routine for the cleaning staff to dust every room and every hallway top to bottom, side to side, but one room was off limits: Steve's Gym. I guess it wasn't fair to call it _Steve's_ gym, but it was only used by him, and no one felt any desire to break that tradition. The cabinets meant to hold weights and jump ropes and medicine balls had been cleared at his request (which he rarely did) and instead were filled with punching bags. The gym floor was covered in a thin layer of sand that spilled from ripped canvas seams. It wasn't rare for Steve to spend his nights reliving the fight with Thanos, the feeling of his body hitting the dirt, his head pounding, hands shaking…It wasn't rare to find the Captain drawing small sketches of Bucky or T'Challa or Peter in the margins of newspapers or on napkins. It wasn't rare to find Rogers wandering back to his room with blushing knuckles and a busy mind, and that's exactly how Tony found him at 2am.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, old man?" Tony attempted to find levity because without it he knew no one could survive.

"Let's not, Tony."

"We never do…" The men walked in the wide hallways, wandering with no destination and no real sense of direction, either.

"It's time to get back in the game, Cap. You mope all day and have nothing to add…I watched a seventeen year old kid fade away in my arms and I'm convinced there's a way to get him back—to get them all back. And you walk around like it's 1935 and there's no hope so you're just gonna give in and I'm done with it. Captain America needs to be kicked in the ass and I'll be damned if it's not my boot that does it." It wasn't typical for Tony to launch into such dramatics without a little banter foreplay, but now was not the time to be shy. Steve turned on his heels and Tony was half expecting him to click them and receive a salute but instead, Steve's icy eyes poured over Tony's face and when the Captain spoke it was…frightening almost.

"You've had your chance to be regretful, Tony," suddenly Steve's voice became stern, not a tone he used without reason. "You think I don't feel guilt? You think I parade around with my perfect morals and my clean ledger and I don't know _acknowledge_ my mistakes? I don't make a habit of living in the past because I'm not allowed to; my past doesn't exist anymore. Everything good I've ever done happened 70 years ago and all that's left now are the mistakes I've made. I've lost soldiers before, Stark, and that was bad enough but I've never really lost _friends._ You once told me you wouldn't trust a guy without a dark side and I told you you hadn't seen mine yet. This is it, Tony. This is me. The Captain who leads his men into a suicide mission and watches as they fall around him one by one and he looks on at the disaster before him, hoping he's next but death never comes for him, that would be too easy, so he resigns himself to living another 70 years alone and in pain because everything he's ever loved has been taken away." Steve regretted his words almost as soon as he was done speaking. He didn't want Tony knowing these things…he never wanted to let the doubt and anger and sadness he had impede his duty but Steve just couldn't hold it in any longer.

Tony looked at the much taller man with some distain, sure, but also with respect.

"I don't blame you. Not for anything. But the truth if the matter is that you're our Jim Jones and if you drink the Kool-Aid, so do we. I don't expect you to be better, Steve. No one expects that. But we follow you and if you don't believe that our friends can be saved, then we think that too. I know that's a heavy burden—that's a weight on your shoulders. But if Iron Man and Captain America say that something's possible then I'll be damned if we can't make it work."

Steve released a held breath and his eyes poured over Tony again.

"Time to get back to work?" Cap smiled gently.

"Time for the Man out of Time to get back to work. Me? I gotta sleep. Genius needs and all that, I'm sure you understand."

"Understand everything but the Kool-Aid…"

"And here I was thinking you were doing so well with the whole learning thing."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

"I just use the material I'm given."

"Such a bastard…"

"Was that a curse word, Captain? I am shocked. I cannot believe my ears. You deserve to have one of your metals revoked. No more pips on your uniform, no no." Tony continued huffing as he walked down the hall.

"Sich verpissen, Stark." Steve called.

"What was that?" Tony shouted back, rounding a corner.

"Just a little something I picked up in Germany…"


End file.
